Back when some of Rockingham’s more compassionate citizens weren’t telling me I was destined to end up dead or in prison before I reached 16, they were consigning me to a place that - in my mind - was worse than either: Cameron Morrison Training School.
Several friends were shipped off to Morrison for being “bad.” Their stories of what they endured would make angels cry. They do me, even 50 years later.
Without exception, they returned to our community broken, crushed, the light extinguished from their eyes and souls.
In short, it did precisely what I figure ol’ Cam would’ve wanted.